


Nontraditional

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas Cookies, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Gen, Gen is adorable, and Shaw adores her back even though she's a bit awkward about it, and adores Shaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: Shaw, Gen, and nontraditional Christmas baking plans.





	Nontraditional

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by st_aurafina's photo edit of Gen, and by the lovely people on Discord.
> 
> Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate it!

It took Finch nearly a month to get the kid’s mother released from Russian prison and safely shipped stateside, he told Sameen as much, pulling her aside one day in between numbers and she gave him a wordless nod of acknowledgement. That the Russians have, as Finch called it, better than average cyber security isn’t news to her, Cole used to complain about it all the time, but then again, it doesn’t matter much to Sameen. Details like this don’t concern her as long as she knows what she has to work with.

It’s enough to know that the mother is now registered as a permanent legal resident in the immigration system and holds work permits that are probably fake, but since they’re Finch’s work, she knows they’ll hold up just as well as real ones, maybe even better. It’s enough to know that the mother now works for one of Finch’s countless corporations, earning a good wage and having full protections and health coverage and a decent retirement plan. The kid’s college fund is already taken care of too.

Finch handed her a slip of paper once he’d said his piece, the kid’s new address and phone number on in it in his neat, fussy looking handwriting. Nothing Sameen couldn’t have found out on her own, but she appreciates him saving her the work.

The paper it still in some corner of her wallet, messily folded, though she remembers the address and the number without it. She has called it a few times by now, checking in, stilted conversation between her and the mother that rarely lasted longer than a few sentences, today’s call no different from any other, even if today’s plans are.

There’s another lull in the numbers at the moment, maybe the New Yorkers are too busy Christmas shopping, consumerism winning out over homicide for once, and as fun as sparring with Reese is, everything gets old after a few days if there’s nothing else to do, so here she is. Snow has started to fall, throwing the traffic into chaos and Sameen trudges from the parking spot she finally found in reasonable distance towards the apartment block in one of the nicer parts of town, hands in her pockets, beanie pulled over her ponytail. She rings, and it doesn’t take long for the buzzer to sound.

The kid’s mother – Oksana, fairly pretty, blonde with green eyes and a round face – opens the apartment door, closing it again to remove the door chain, then opening it fully with a small smile on her face. The expression looks somewhat unnatural on her and Sameen doesn’t smile back.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ms Shaw. She hasn’t talked about anything else all morning.” Oksana greets her, voice soft and hesitant and carrying a thick accent, but full of affection for her daughter. “Do you want to come inside? Have something to drink?”

The apartment where it isn’t hidden behind the kid’s mother is bright, glittering Christmas decorations everywhere and Sameen thinks she can see the edge of a massive tree around the corner at the end of the hallway. “No. I’ll wait here.”

Oksana nods, then turns towards her home. “Genrika!” she calls.

It barely takes a second until footsteps can be heard, the kid running towards the door, into the hallway. She’s grown a little taller since Sameen last saw her, her winter coat isn’t properly put on, hanging awkwardly off her shoulder. She’s wearing a Christmas hat, white bobble on the tip of it bouncing in between blonde curls.

“Shaw!” she shouts in delight when she spots Sameen, running faster, and then Sameen has her arms full of the kid, would’ve stumbled backwards if she hadn’t expected the impact. Oksana’s smile looks a bit less awkward now.

“Hey kid.”

Gen releases her after a moment, a wide grin on her face, obviously unbothered that Sameen didn’t think to hug her back, just smiling up at her when after a moment of the kid obviously not doing it, Sameen grabs the collar of her jacket and tugs it properly into place over her shoulder. Gen turns to her mother and they exchange quick goodbyes and I love yous in Russian, then a small hand finds Sameen’s, pulling it out of the pocket and her along, away from the apartment, waving to her mother before Oksana shuts the door.

By the time they reach Sameen’s car, she’s telling her everything about her school, her friends and teachers and classes, taking it in stride when Sameen doesn’t make all the hums and ahs people usually do in conversations, not even expecting them, and she is suddenly reminded why she likes this kid. Gen only pauses when Sameen accelerates the car, winding their way through the clogged traffic that doesn’t prevent her from breaking the speed limit.

“Isn’t that against the law?” she asks, and Sameen shrugs. She won’t cause an accident, even at this speed. Not with the kid in the car.

“If I get caught in a speed trap, your loaded guardian’ll pay for it.”

Gen nods as if that resolves everything and probably, for her it does, she doesn’t seem as concerned over her driving as Finch, Fusco and Carter often seem. Instead, she tells Sameen about the bully in the grade above her, and Sameen resolves that after the Christmas baking she told Oksana they’d do, she’ll give Gen some self-defence lessons.

Unlike the Zhirovas’, Sameen’s apartment is as she left it, halfway between messy and tidy, undecorated, weapons strewn around and one of her sniper rifles lying disassembled on her kitchen table, cleaned but not put back together before she left to pick Gen up. She has to smirk imagining Finch’s disapproving look at the state in general and at bringing the kid here, but it seems like a good choice now.

Gen drops her coat next to Sameen’s and is immediately drawn to the rifle, eyes lit up with curiosity, and Sameen spontaneously promises to show her how to take it apart and reassemble it later, before she is distracted by taking a look around the rest of Sameen’s apartment.

After a moment, her smile widens and she steps over towards the bedside table, taking her grandfather’s medal that hangs off the lamp there into her hand, turning it over a few times and Sameen turns her back towards her then, putting all the ingredients they’ll need into a pile on the kitchen counter. It takes a few minutes, then she looks up because kids usually aren’t silent for that long.

“Thank you.” Gen says the moment Sameen looks at her, gesturing towards the medal.

Unsure what to respond, Sameen only nods, but – bless that kid – before the silence gets awkward, Gen skips over to the kitchen counter and starts looking through the ingredients, reading through the recipe.

“Is it true that it makes a toxic gas if you mix bleach and vinegar?” she asks, apropos of nothing, as they’re halfway through making the dough, both of them dusted in flour already.

Sameen nods. At least this is a topic she knows how to talk about. “Chlorine gas. It’s also used as a chemical weapon, though in higher concentrations than household chemicals’ll give you. Can still do some damage, but mixing bleach with ammonia or rubbing alcohol will give you something more effective. Tell you what, we finish this batch of cookies so you have something to show your mom, then we’ll go to the roof and I’ll show you how to make an explosive from household supplies. We could call Harold, he’s even better at chemistry than me, if we spin it right, he might even come and join us.”

“You sure he wouldn’t just give you the side-eye of doom and lecture us on safety?”

The kid’s scepticism isn’t completely unwarranted, but Sameen waves it away anyway. “At first, yeah. But he’ll come around. He’s my blasting buddy, he’d probably be more upset if we don’t include him in our Christmas fun. And if we’ve got time after that, I’ll give you the basics of gun safety, and we’ll shoot some cans. Sound good?”

Gen giggles. “Not really traditional Christmas baking stuff.” she quips, grin never fading.

“Says the ten year old who spends her free time spying on drug dealers and hanging out with an ex-spy turned vigilante.”

The kid only shrugs and redoubles her kneading efforts. “Okay, fair. And it sounds great, Shaw.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it? If so, please consider leaving me a comment, comments are even better than explosive Christmas cookies :D
> 
> (There was an amazing tumblr post that called Shaw and Harold 'blasting buddies', if anyone happens to find it, please let me know!)


End file.
